The frolic hare peeps out, Out from his leafy covert, and looks round; The wild birds flit about, And fill the clear soft air with gentlest sound. Come, love! of softest blue, Beneath the bordering trees, the stream flows on; The night-hawk thou may'st view, Sitting in stirless silence on his stone. The lark soars up, soars up, With twinkling pinions, to salute the morn; Over its foxglove cup The wild bee hangs, winding its tiny horn. Bright flowers of every dye, Blossoms of odours sweet are breathing round; The west wind wanders by, And, kissing, bends their lithe stalks to the ground. All things of bliss, and love, And gentleness, and harmony proclaim ; Echo, from out the grove, Murmurs, as I repeat thy dear-loved name. Haste, then, beloved, haste; Come to these cooling shades, and wander free: My spirit will not taste Earth's cup of joy till first 'tis kiss'd by thee! STANZAS. ON THIS GREEN BANK, &c. On this green bank I saw thee lie, Too fair for daughter of mankind, What marvel, if thou didst appear, Beloved! to a poet's mind, Some houri come from realms of wind, To grace our lower sphere. The rose-tree form'd a pleasant shade, And, ever as the zephyrs play'd, They caught new fragrance, and convey'd Years have elapsed; but yet, methinks, Bright as the flowers on river brinks, The lake is calm, the sky is clear, The woods array'd in living green; The roses still are blooming near, Thus, when the shadowy tempests lour, With ruthless speed, the lightning blind Flies arrowy downward, to devour The landscape's solitary flower, And leaves the weeds behind. |